“No,” said Blackheart. “I want my sister back.”
Dany dissolved into hiccuppy sobs, Blackheart took her into his arms, and Ferris wisely tiptoed out the door, closing it behind them. Blackie made it out just in time, having a typical feline disdain for heavy emotion, and followed his mistress into the kitchen, his spiky gray tail switching back and forth.
“All right, I’ve been ignoring you,” Ferris murmured, searching through the refrigerator for guilt food. “I’ve had problems of my own, you know.”
Blackie jumped onto the counter, his bulk landing with a heavy thud, and his only response was a haughty meow. “Yes, I know,” she said, dishing out the last of the herring and opening herself a Diet Coke. “You don’t care about my problems, you only care about your stomach. What I want to know, cat of mine, is why you were cuddling up to a stranger? The only other stranger I’ve seen you tolerate is Blackheart. Do you have a certain affinity for cat burglars?”
Blackie shoved his face into the herring, ignoring her. Ferris levered herself up onto the narrow counter beside him, swinging her long legs. “Who can blame you?” she murmured, half to herself. “I have a certain affinity for them myself.”
She was halfway through her soda when Blackheart emerged from the bedroom, Dany trailing behind him. “What makes you think everyone knows what we’re going for?” Dany demanded, crowding into the tiny kitchen with them. “The Van Gogh is the logical target. When something like that is available, why would anyone go for the eggs?”
“Eggs?” Ferris echoed.
Blackheart opened her refrigerator, clucked in disgust and closed it again, leaning against the counter, brushing against her with that casual gesture that bespoke complete ease with another’s body. She only wished she could be so nonchalant with his. The feel of his arm against her was reminding her of last night all too vividly. “Dany and her heavy-fisted accomplice were planning to steal the Faberge eggs from the museum. They naively assumed that everyone would be watching the Van Gogh. What I’ve been trying to point out to her is that McNab, even in his besotted condition, is no fool. He knows that if a Blackheart is around and in a larcenous mood, that Blackheart is going to go for jewels. And the most bejeweled things in San Francisco at the moment are the Faberge eggs. Ergo, Blackheart’s sister is going to go for the eggs.”
“McNab never asked me what our target was.”
“Did he have time?” Blackheart countered. Dany’s response was a surprising blush, and Blackheart swore. “I guess I’m going to have to put up with a bloody policeman for an in-law. He’s going to have to make an honest woman of you.”
“I’m not going to let him compromise his principles for me,” Dany said nobly, her eyes filling again with tears.
“Fine,” said Blackheart, taking the can of Diet Coke from Ferris’s hand and drinking. He shuddered and handed it back. “Then you can compromise your principles for him. After all, you’re a thief, born and bred, and you’re planning to give up your wicked ways. I’d think you’d let him meet you halfway.”
“Do you miss it?” Dany asked the question Ferris didn’t dare put.
Blackheart placed an arm around Ferris’s waist, drawing her closer. “Francesca keeps me distracted whenever I get a larcenous urge. I’m certain you can count on McNab to do the same for you.”
“Maybe,” Dany said, reaching forward to stroke Blackie’s thick gray fur. If there was one thing Blackie hated, it was affectionate gestures when he was pigging out, but he lifted his sour-cream-dappled face, looked at Dany, and purred.
“I know what you’re getting as a wedding present,” Ferris said sourly. “Let’s hope McNab isn’t allergic to cats.”
“I don’t know,” Dany said. “I hardly know anything about him. It would be a ridiculous mistake to marry him.”
“It seems to me, sister mine, that you’ve made a great many mistakes in your life. This one just might turn out well.”
“You’re forgetting about Marco. He’s not going to let me go without a fight.”
“He’s not going to have a choice in the matter. He can’t pull off the museum heist alone, can he?”
“No.”
“And at this point you haven’t committed any crimes on American soil?”
“Except for stealing McNab’s car.”
Blackheart dismissed that minor technicality with a wave of his hand. “And you managed to confuse the European authorities thoroughly. As long as you stay in this country, safely married to your cop, you should manage to live happily ever after. I think we can count on McNab to take care of Marco.”
“Make him see reason.” Dany turned to Ferris for support. “There’s no future for a thief and a cop.”
“Blackheart believes what he wants to believe. Unfortunately, he’s usually right.”
“Maybe.” Dany didn’t sound so sure. “But I don’t think so. Not this time. I’m going to take a shower, if that’s all right.”
“Go right ahead,” Ferris said. “Blackheart and I will still be here, arguing.”
“We’re not arguing, we’re planning,” he corrected her as Dany disappeared. “And all we have to worry about—” his voice was a silken purr “—is trapping Ferris Byrd’s thieving ex-fiancé.”
She jumped, looking into Blackheart’s tawny eyes. “I thought you said you were no longer thieving?”
“I’m not. You happen to have more than one former fiancé.”
“Don’t be absurd!” Ferris protested, sliding off the counter. Unfortunately Blackheart helped her down, easing her body alongside his in a manner calculated to make her brain melt. They were alone in the tiny kitchen, and in the distance they could hear the muffled sound of the shower. She also noticed he’d said she had two former fiancés. If she wondered where they stood after last night, he’d just obliquely answered the question—still at an impasse. “Phillip wouldn’t steal anything. He doesn’t need to—he inherited a fortune from his father.”
“He also has substantial campaign debts and a very tight race with a Hispanic congressman from San Diego. He needs more television time, and that’s very, very expensive.”
Ferris stared at him in disbelief—a disbelief tempered by the fact that she’d learned to trust Blackheart. If he said a notorious straight-arrow like Phillip Merriam was straying off center, he was most likely right. “What’s he going to steal?”
“What else? His mother’s Van Gogh.”
“That’s ridiculous! He wouldn’t steal from his own mother. I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t you?” It was a mild enough question.
Ferris hesitated. “I suppose I do. But why would he take such a risk? Couldn’t he just ask his mother for the money? Why would he jeopardize his reputation and his career like that?”
“I’ve been doing a little checking in the last few days. He’s borrowed everything he can, legally. And Regina, bless her heart, supports Congressman Diaz. Not to mention that she wouldn’t sacrifice a treasure like the Van Gogh for the sake of her son’s ambition. She wants it to belong to the people, and that’s what will happen to it, if Phillip doesn’t get there first.”
“I still can’t believe he’d take the risk,” she said stubbornly.
Blackheart put a hand under his chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You know as well as I do how seductive danger can be. Your bland and boring Phillip is just about to be deflowered. Unless, of course, we stop him.”
“Why would you be willing to do that? There’s no love lost between you and Phillip. I wouldn’t think you’d care what happened to him.”
“I don’t. But I do, however, have a fondness for Regina, and Phillip’s disgrace would be hers. And there’s one other little problem. Phillip’s planning to frame me for the theft.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“He had me rechec
k the security system yesterday, when you and I both know he went over it with Nelbert and McNab not three days ago. He made sure I left my fingerprints all over everything. He’s also asked me to meet him at the house tonight at midnight, to discuss certain events in Madrid. I’m sure I’m supposed to arrive and discover the painting missing, with even more clues leading directly to me. If it weren’t so obvious, I might be irritated. But with a clod like Nelbert helping him, he was bound to be fairly basic in his planning.”
“Nelbert’s in on it, too?”
“You can’t trust anyone nowadays,” Blackheart said with a soulful look. “Nelbert is as sleazy as they come. He’s just managed to keep a lower profile than I have in my past indiscretions.”
“That’s a polite term for breaking and entering.”
“Oh, I’m always polite,” he said.
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“We aren’t going to do anything. Tonight’s the night of the circus performance. I’ll be there anyway, but instead of watching the pickpockets and housebreakers, I’m going to keep my eye on the good senator. If I can’t catch him in the act and stop him, then I deserve to take the fall for it.”
“And what will I be doing?”
“You’ll be circulating among the crowds, doing what you do so well.”
“What’s that?”
“Being charming. Of course you reserve that charm for everyone but me.”
“Maybe I keep my charm for those who deserve it.”
“Maybe,” said Blackheart, pulling her into his arms, his mouth very close to hers. “And maybe you trust me enough not to have to charm me. Maybe you know that your very presence on this earth is charm enough for me.” He brushed his lips over hers, a brief, glancing caress, one she reached for, pressing her mouth against his, deepening the kiss.
His hands slid down her back, catching the seat of her jeans and pulling her up tight against him. She could feel his arousal, feel the taut, hungry heat of him, and she moaned deep in the back of her throat.
“I wish your sister wasn’t here,” she whispered against his shoulder when he finally broke the kiss.
A sudden irritated expression crossed his face, and he released her abruptly. “How long has it been since you heard the shower?”
“I wasn’t paying any attention.” She followed him out of the kitchen, down two steps into the dining room and up another two to her bedroom. “She couldn’t have left, Blackheart. She would have had to go past us.”
Blackheart had already yanked open the bathroom door, exposing the empty room beyond. He swore, sharply and succinctly. “Do you think a Blackheart has to worry about things like front doors and stairs? If you can climb up your balcony and break in, it would be child’s play for Dany to escape that way.” He climbed across the bed that filled the small room, yanked open the terrace door and stepped out into the fitful sunlight. “Damn!”
She’d followed him, leaning against the open door, watching him out of somber eyes. “Where do you think she’s gone?”
“That’s one question,” he agreed. “The other one is why?” He came back into the bedroom, no longer interested in the rumpled bed or Ferris’s heated body. “I think, dear heart, we may be in for a rough ride.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sabotage
(Lime Grove 1936)
THE EVENING WAS a zoo in more ways than one. Ferris threaded her way through the glittering, absurdly bejeweled crowds at the circus, a perfect smile plastered to her face, her eyes darting into shadowy corners, alert for the reappearance of Dany Bunce. There was no sign of her, though she kept running into a glowering Stephen McNab. Clearly his luck was as bad as hers, or he would have worn a more pleasant expression.
She was leaning against the side of the grandstand, watching her old friends the white tigers go through their paces, when she felt someone breathing down her neck. She looked up into the detective’s steely eyes with the unflinching courage born of complete desperation. “I haven’t seen her,” she said, forestalling his obvious question.
“If I find you have anything to do with her getting away, I’m going to put you in the slammer along with Blackheart,” he growled. The sound was fiercer than her old friend Tarzan’s theatrical roars from the center ring.
Ferris thought about it for a moment. “I might prefer that,” she said finally. “If you’re going to arrest Blackheart on trumped-up charges, I’d just as soon go along with him.”
“They won’t be trumped up. I’m going to nail him for grand larceny, breaking and entering and obstructing justice, and I’ll get you as an accessory.”
“You can also charge me with littering,” she added politely.
“Don’t push me.”
“Don’t push me,” Ferris countered. “Blackheart hasn’t done any of those things in years, certainly not within your jurisdiction, and he paid for his earlier crimes.”
“Six months in jail is not paying for more than fifteen years of crime.”
“Are you a cop, McNab? Or are you God?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, his jaw working in rage and frustration. He was able to swallow it, a shudder leaving his body. “I need to find her,” he said in a quieter voice. “I can’t let her disappear. I need her.”
“Do you think there’s much of a future for you if you hound her brother into jail?” She refused to feel sorry for him.
“Her brother can do anything he damned well pleases. He can knock over Fort Knox for all I care. I’m not on duty tonight, and I’m not on his case anymore. It’s somebody else’s problem.”
Marco Porcini was beginning his high wire act. Ferris looked up and shivered. “I’ll do what I can. So, as a matter of fact, will Blackheart.”
It must have galled him to accept aid from his nemesis. But he swallowed his pride. “I’ll be around if you see anything.”
She nodded, her attention on Marco’s muscular form. She felt rather than saw him leave, so enrapt in watching the strong body overhead that she couldn’t pull her eyes away. She didn’t want to look. Even the sight of someone braving such great heights made her heart pound and her palms sweat in empathic fright. The net beneath offered no comfort. She watched Porcini’s slippered feet dance along the high wire and wanted to throw up.
She heard a murmur of appreciation from the crowd, a ripple of laughter, one that she couldn’t identify. Marco was doing nothing more than dancing lightly on the wire, nothing to encourage such a reaction. The reaction was growing, and Ferris reluctantly pulled her eyes away to the side, where a clown with oversize shoes, a gigantic purple wig, glowing nose and preposterous figure was making his way up the rope ladder to the high wire.
“What are you doing?” Blackheart breathed in her ear.
“Damn!” She turned her complete attention to the man who’d materialized behind her, grateful for the distraction. “You do creep up on a person, don’t you? I was doing what you ordered me to do. Watching the circus and keeping an eye out for suspicious behavior. You told me I wasn’t allowed to help you with your trap. For that matter, why aren’t you lying in wait near the Van Gogh?”
Blackheart shrugged. “Nothing was happening. And I didn’t order you. I suggested you might be more constructive down here. Particularly since I planned to go in over the roofs. It was hard enough for you in the daylight. Trust me, you wouldn’t have liked it at all tonight.”
“Did you go in over the roofs?”
“Actually, no,” he admitted, keeping a wary eye on her. “But I might have had to. I still might have to, and you know you don’t want to do that. You can barely stand to watch Porcini.” He glanced up, and Ferris followed his gaze. The clown had reached the opposite end of the tightrope, and with a great show of incompetence and trepidation the figure started edging out onto the taut line.
&
nbsp; Porcini reacted with theatrical rage, gesturing the clown to go away. The audience was in stitches, Ferris’s palms were soaking, and she pulled her attention away from the spectacle. “No, I wouldn’t want to climb over the roofs,” she agreed.
“So why are you dressed like that?”
Ferris looked down at her black silk jumpsuit, an outfit that effectively covered her from wrist to ankle. An impressive expanse of pale breast was visible, but she only had to do up a couple of buttons to cover up even that amount of white flesh. “Don’t you like it? It cost a small fortune.”
“It’s also brand-new. I know your clothes well enough to know you just bought it, and I know as well as you do how effective an outfit that would be for a cat burglar. Forget it, Francesca. You’re not going to have anything to do with the festivities tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know why not,” he growled. “Even if there’s no future for us, I want you to be alive and well enough to enjoy a future with someone else.”
Ferris’s fear of heights vanished, replaced by a new apprehension. “There’s no future for us?” she echoed.
He pulled his eyes away from the act overhead for a brief moment. “Is there?”
It was her turn to look away to the figures of Porcini and the clown. They were engaged in some sort of mock struggle and the audience was eating it up. “Blackheart,” she said, her voice raw with emotion, “I—”
“Oh, my God!” It wasn’t a shout, it was a strangled gasp of horror as Blackheart effectively forgot her existence. “That’s Dany up there.”
Just at that moment Porcini lost his formidable balance. Clutching at Dany he fell, yanking her off the wire. Then losing his grip, he tumbled toward the net. Instinctively tucking himself into the proper position for falling, he landed smack-dab in the middle of the net.